My Path

Not the quintessential nerd, but I was close. No time for dating. Always early. Always overachieving. Grad school got my dream internship. Day two on the job and I meet my direct supervisor, Moira McGillicutty. 6 feet tall, athletic, brunette hair cut short, minimal makeup, long arms, long legs, muscular, surprisingly big breasts, she took one look at me in my cheap suit and bad haircut.

She extended her hand. We shook. She's eyeballing me and not impressed with what she's seeing.

"Nice to meet you, Pat." She then says, "Tsk, tsk, that won't do."

I politely ask, "What won't do ma'am?"

"Your suit. Your haircut. Who taught you how to tie a tie?"

"What's wrong with my haircut? I thought my suit was appropriate. I taught myself to tie a tie."

"Pat, I expect you in my office at the end of the day. I have some free time this evening. You and I are going shopping."

I protested, "But ma'am, I don't have much money."

"Don't worry. You can pay me back."

That was my introduction to Moira. As instructed I showed up at her office at the end of the work day.

I followed her out to the parking lot.

"We'll take my car," she announced.

By the end of the evening I had two new suits, five new shirts, five new ties, a set of cufflinks, and a new pair of wingtips. She also insisted I upgrade my underwear from tight whiteys to something more colorful.

"I know your age, but your face and your build doesn't exactly shout 'I'm a man. Stick with the briefs for now. Besides they look better on men with your build. Boxers would make your legs look even thinner. Did your parents feed you? My god, you're skinny. We need to put some meat and muscle on your bones. You don't want to be called chicken legs the rest of your life."

She wasn't being mean, but forthright, and she was trying to interject some humor into a serious situation.

"We have an image here at Peabody LLC. Our clients expect us to dress and act in a way that mirrors them."

"How is that ma'am?" I asked having no idea what she was talking about.

"Rich," she answered.

"Ma'am, I won't be working with the company's clients. I'm a numbers guy, a statistician."

"That's where you're wrong. You'll work a great deal with our clients. Not one on one, but we'll parade you in front of them. You'll dazzle them with your numbers. They'll invest not really having a clue to the higher math you're espousing. They'll think you're brilliant. We'll all get richer."

"So I'll be a monkey on parade."

She pinched my cheek, "But a very cute monkey. My god, do you even shave?"

"Not often, ma'am."

"I'd forgotten how young eighteen is. You must really be smart to be working on your master's already and for our company's owner to have insisted we hire you. You're not our normal intern."

"I don't consider myself really smart. Some things come easy for me, but I also work hard. Who do you normally hire as interns?"

"Business majors. Jocks. Salesmen. Few of them have the right mix. They either come across too aggressively or they just aren't polished enough. We can polish the rough diamonds, but if your reading, speaking, and writing skills aren't up to par out you go."

"What about math?" I asked.

"That's why we have you sweetie. We can talk more at dinner."

We left, but not before having a tailor alter my shirts, jackets, and slacks. He told her it would be several days. She whipped out a Benjamin Franklin and said, "One for now and the second when we pick them up this evening. Do we have a deal?"

He snatched the C note out of her hand and said, "Yes ma'am. We have a deal. Is eleven too late?"

"Not at all. See you at 11."

We had dinner. She grilled me about my background and volunteered some of hers. It was hard not to remember my place because there was so much I really liked about her. It wasn't just her looks, but her personality. She was so confident, so well spoken, so polished, but she didn't come across as some know it all asshole. She had traveled, did a lot of reading, and was fanatical about all sports and fitness.

"Pat, what sports do you play? What do you do for workouts?" She asked between bites of her ribeye.

"Ma'am, I don't."

She pointed her knife at me, "We'll have to change that. Sports teaches competitiveness and teamwork. This industry isn't for loners or losers. You're obviously not a loser or you wouldn't be here. I suspect you are a bit of a loner which I completely understand. I enjoy my solitude also, but sports will make you less of a loner."

"Ma'am, I don't exactly have the genetic makeup for sports."

She shot back, "Says who? I know plenty of people who are surprisingly athletic, but don't look it."

The subject was no longer open for discussion so we discussed mathematical modeling. She didn't know a lot, but she found what I had to say and how I explained it very interesting.

"Pat, you're good. Our clients will love you. You dumb it down without insulting their intelligence.

Even though she was trying to put me at ease, plying me with drinks (the drinking age when this happened was eighteen), I didn't try to match her drink for drink. I had a nice buzz, but I wasn't about to let my guard down and become overly familiar. She stared at me a lot which made me uncomfortable and she touched me a lot. I didn't know how to read her, but I wasn't about to blow my internship by doing something stupid.

I found out her age. Twenty five put only seven years apart, but in seven years a person can have a lifetime of experiences. She looked at her watch.

"Time to go," she announced. She signaled to the waiter to bring her our check. I offered to pay.

She said, "That's very thoughtful, but dinner is on the company expense account."

I thanked her. In the car we kept glancing at each other. Actually I did the glancing while she did a lot of staring. I studied her profile and imagined what it would be like to kiss her. I wondered what she looked like naked. I also concluded I didn't have a snowball's chance in hell of hooking up with her.

Back at the clothing store she insisted I model for her my newly tailored clothes. She even went so far as to slide her hand along the waistband to make sure there was room.

"Very nice," she said as I turned around for her to look at my backside. She even commented on my bum saying, "You have a nice tush." I blushed causing her to comment, "I'm sorry I embarrassed you, but it's true. You're a cutie pie, Pat."

I changed back into the clothes I wore earlier. At the cash register I watched as she paid for all the purchases without batting an eye. In the car she was all business telling me how much I needed to pay her each week to make my balance zero by the end of my internship.

We drove back to our workplace. I thanked her again. She said, "No problem. See you in the morning."

Throughout the remainder of my internship she groomed me into becoming a Peabody man. She was a demanding boss. I didn't consider myself a suck up, but she inspired me to work harder. I learned one day I had acquired a nickname, Pet. I was taken aback and asked my coworkers what I had done to earn the nickname.

They explained it wasn't anything I had done. They considered me the hardest working, most productive intern they had seen in several years. They just perceived Moira was overly protective of me and that I was her favorite, hence the nickname Pet.

On one hand, the nickname irritated me, but on the other I felt proud. She did look out for me, making sure I answered only to her. She saved me from getting work dumped on me by lazy coworkers and supervisors who had no qualms about taking advantage of cheap intern labor.

I asked if Moira knew about my nickname.

One of the more senior people to me, a big middle aged man named Bill who I also saw as a mentor, said, "Of course she knows. When she found out she smiled and said she was guilty as charged. She admitted to being overprotective, but said she needed to protect you from the wolves. I think she likes you."

I blushed and told Bill Moira's interest in me was strictly professional. As to her liking me it was how big sisters liked their little brothers. She was out of my league. Deep down I hoped it was true because I had a serious crush on her. She was what I was looking for in a woman. The age difference didn't bother me. I had been around people much older than her throughout school. The height difference didn't bother me. Her athleticism didn't bother me. Her self confidence, cockiness, intelligence, aggressiveness I considered pluses.

I worked even harder to make Moira prouder of me. I vowed to make my owner and Peabody LLC want to invite me back. We seldom interacted after work, but when we did it was almost always at company functions. She would have at her side arm candy, a tall, handsome, athletic, man. She seemed to change men frequently.

She really loved volleyball. I discovered I did too. I joined a team and found out I was good at it. I also started exercising. Towards the end of the summer and my internship the company had a picnic. It was hot. I was soon shirtless. She was on the opposite team. As always, she looked fantastic. She joked as she walked up to me, "Has my pet been working out?" She then reached out and plucked one of my chest hairs.

I said, "Ouch," more surprised than in pain.

She laughed but didn't explain why and I didn't pursue the matter. I figured what Bill had said was true. I wasn't about to blow it by making a scene. I also discovered she was pretty buzzed from all the beer and the sun.

The game was good even though my team lost. Moira was very dominating on the lot. She was hard to block. She had wicked serves. She excelled at blocking. I learned it was only one of a half dozen sports she excelled in. I couldn't keep my eyes off of her. She would glance at me, but look away if I looked back.

Game ended. We all shook hands, grabbed more beers. She congratulated me for my effort, then reached out and plucked a second chest hair. This time she joked, "Now, I've taken all two of your chest hairs."

Her comment garnered quite a few laughs. I turned red in the face. It wasn't true, but compared to the other bare chested men I had almost no body hair.

She walked away to find her date. I studied her ass wondering what it would be like to have her buttocks in my hands. I was jealous of her date.

My internship ended, but my longing for Moira didn't. We parted ways with the same formality when we met. At the end of a staff meeting she took a few minutes to recognize me. My going away gifts were fitting, a ceramic red apple and a rather tasteful ceramic figurine of a tall fashionably dressed woman with her dog on a leash. I said a few words, thanked everyone for taking me under their wing and with providing me such a wonderful experience. I told Moira in front of the staff she was my first supervisor and any future supervisors would have big shoes to fill.

Moira let the office cut out of work early so they could take the intern out for a few beers. I was emptying the contents of my desk into a box when Moira came up to me. She said she was recommending me for a second internship. She gave me a card which she wanted me to open up later. She and I exchanged a rather awkward and quick hug.

I decided to make a joke of my nickname but to show how much I appreciated her, "I've really enjoyed being your pet."

She laughed and without skipping a beat said, "I've enjoyed owning you."

It wasn't until the next day I opened the card she gave me.

"Pet, I mean Pat (haha) or is it Pat, I mean Pet."

She wrote half a dozen sentences pointing out all I had done and how rewarding it was for her as a supervisor and role model to watch me transform into a Peabody man. She hoped I would come back for a second year.

Her closing line was especially poignant, "Your innocence I found refreshing. Stay innocent, Pet. Hoping to see you in the future."

She signed it, "Wishing for you great things. Love, Moira aka Teacher."

I read her card dozens of times trying to decide if it had a deeper meaning.

Absence only made me miss her more. Did she really love me? What did she mean by staying innocent? Was she asking me to save myself for her or was it to not let the financial products Peabody sold and its sales techniques jade me?

I thought about her a lot and many of those thoughts were sexual in nature. I was a virgin and was certain she wasn't. As I masturbated to thoughts of her other men's faces and bodies would invade and push me aside. I would climax to not what Moira and I were doing, but to what she was doing with other men. It aroused me, but it also made me ashamed, even perverted. After all what kind of man climaxes thinking about the woman he loves being fucked by another man?